The
Brahmana was young, but not youthful. He was of medium height, and in
spite of his young age, his hair and beard were shot with grey. He
was thin, though not emaciated.
His clothes were simple and
patched in many places. The bundle he was carrying was also in a
similar condition. He clutched it in one hand, the other held a
begging bowl, which was half full of rice. The bundle held the
vegetables and fruits he received in alms.
As
he turned the corner, he could hear the loud laughter of the
children. He smiled to himself as his steps quickened almost
automatically. He could distinguish the laughter of his own son,
Aswathama. Soon, the children came into sight. Aswathama came running
to him.
"Father!" He cried in
delight. "Father, I drank milk today! I drank milk!"
The suppressed giggles of the older
children were not lost on the Brahmana. He looked at his young son
with affection as he transferred the bundle to his shoulder and the
bowl to the hand holding the bundle. Then he stooped down and picked
up his son, carrying him in the other arm.
"Tell me all about it,"
said he, forcing a smile and feigning an enthusiasm he did not feel.
He could hear the loud snickers of the older children, but he ignored
them. The mocking glances sent his way confirmed his suspicion that
his son had been made the butt of a practical joke, but he did not
want to dampen his child's joy or his enthusiasm.
As he entered his small one room
hut, his sharp ears caught a whisper one of the children, "The
learned Drona's son can't even tell the difference between milk and
water mixed with powdered rice!"
He felt his face burning and his
hand clenched tightly on his bowl. Aswathama who was chattering away
about how tasty the 'milk' he drank, was oblivious of his father's
turmoil till then.
"Father," said he, "it
pains,"
Drona noticed then that he was
holding his son in a vice like grip too. He relaxed his grip, and put
down the child.
"I didn't want you to fall,"
said he, putting the bowl and the bundle down and rubbing the boy's
midriff gently.
Kripi came in just then, bringing
water for him to wash his hands and feet.
That night, after Aswathama had
slept, Drona told his wife that he was leaving.
"I see no benefit in the life
we are leading now," he told her. "I shall go out into the
world and make my fortune. My friend Drupada will surely help me."
Kripi kept her eyes lowered and
Drona failed to see the anguish in them. He was too lost in what had
happened that day to pay attention to her.
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